


monster mash

by bemusedbicycle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Camping AU, F/M, Halloween AU, Smut, Tent Sex, woods makeout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:37:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5108135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedbicycle/pseuds/bemusedbicycle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>we decided to go camping with a bunch of our friends on halloween and we’re telling ghost stories around the fire when we hear a sound come from the woods…turns out you just went to go pee, jesus, you scared us. PWALP – Porn With A Little Plot. Happy Halloween, pumpkin pies. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	monster mash

She never did like Halloween.

Once, at one of her foster homes, the eldest boy in the family had forced her through a marathon of terrifying movies and then locked her in the basement with all the lights out, sneaking around to the back door and grabbing her around the waist when she tried to make a break for the stairs. She had cried for three hours and refused to sleep without the over light on, pissing off the rest of the foster kids she shared a room with and resulting in her swift return to the group home.

In high school, she had been locked in the closet behind the stage on a dare, only to find that there was already someone else in there – intent on scaring her shitless by jumping out, screaming  _Boo!_ , and grabbing at her like some god damned Stephen King rip off. Luke Dempsey received a broken nose, and she received a suspension.

So when Ruby suggests they all go camping on Halloween, she’s not thrilled.

And when they’re at said camping expedition and Ruby suggests ghost stories around the campfire, she’s  _really_  not thrilled.

“We’re adults, Ruby.” Like the adult she is, she takes a swig from the bottle of rum Killian hands her, only grimacing slightly as it burns its way down her throat. She hadn’t known  _he_ was coming until he showed up in an infuriating plaid button up and a sleeping bag thrown over his shoulder, one eyebrow arching up high on his forehead as he pondered aloud the sleeping arrangements. “Is this really necessary?”

“It’s Halloween, Emma,” she snaps, aiming a pinecone at her head. “It wouldn’t kill you to be a little spirited.”

The pinecone hits Killian instead, and he uses it as an excuse to lean closer. “Don’t worry, love.” His breath is warm against the side of her neck, goosebumps rising in answer along her arm. She can practically  _feel_  it when he smiles and she wants to press herself closer, see if he still licks his bottom lip and bites at it when she sways into his space. She turns her head, watching him from the corner of her eye. His grin widens. “I’ll hold your hand if you get scared.”

She wants him to hold something else instead, preferably her face on his face, but the hesitant flirtation between them hasn’t amounted to a damn thing in three years and she’s just about given up on him making a move. Last month, she could have sworn he was about to kiss her at the crowded bar where Ruby works – his fingers flexing on her hip and his nose brushing hers, her name a whisper between them – but Will had stumbled and elbowed him in the back and well – nothing since.

Nothing but words.

She’s tired of words.

“Did I ever tell you guys the story about that old hospital on Greene?” Her head snaps back to the fire, a smirk curling the corners of David’s lips as the shadows from the flames dance dramatically over the angles of his face. Mary Margaret tucks herself tighter to him under his arm and suddenly, she’s very tired of everything.

She stands abruptly, jostling Killian and his bottle of rum. Everyone in the circle stares at her and she coughs to cover the heat in her cheeks. She’ll just blame the fire if necessary, but no one seems too surprised to see her turning tail. “I’m just going to – “ She gestures back over to where the circle of tents are. “I’m going to grab more stuff for s’mores.”

Ruby’s frown does little to stop her from stepping over the log she was using as a bench. “Emma, come on. It’s just for fun.”

“I know.” She shoves her hands in her back pockets. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

Unfortunately for her, she remembers while she’s poking around her tent that they left the graham crackers and chocolate bars in the back of her bug. Her bug which is parked on the other side of the small stretch of woods, now looming ominously under the cover of inky night.

“Fuck.” She mutters to herself, curling her hands in fists and steeling herself. She’s a grown woman, for christ’s sake. She shouldn’t be afraid of the dark.

It’s what she keeps telling herself as she steps into the woods, eyes wide as she tries desperately to acclimate to the lack of light.

It’s what she keeps telling herself when she surrounded completely by darkness, no longer able to hear the muted chatter from around the fire.

It’s what she keeps telling herself when a branch snaps directly to her left, and she feels like her heart is somewhere in her throat.

“Hello?” She whispers. Camping on Halloween with ghost stories – what a fucking terrible idea. Might as well investigate the abandoned hospital (doctor’s office –  _honestly_ ) David was rambling on about with a séance candle and a Ouija board.  

Silence greets her in return so she takes another step into the woods, holding onto her car keys like she used to when she was a teenager – metal out so if anything attacks she can scratch its eyes out, or something.

Just a few more feet.

She can do this.

Something touches her arm and she swings wildly, her fist landing with a sickening crunch against her would-be-assailant. She turns, expecting some sort of demon with yellow eyes or a homeless guy with a can or even that clown from those demented theme park commercials, but instead she sees red plaid.

Red plaid and Killian, holding the side of his face and staring at her with pained fury from his place sprawled on the ground.

“What the bloody hell was that for?”

She must have knicked the side of his cheek with her car keys because there’s a thin scrape just along his cheekbone, perpendicular to the scar he already has. He shifts up on his knees and pulls his hand away, squinting at it in the dark. “Am I  _bleeding_?”

She winces. “Maybe a bit.”

“And why, pray tell,” he huffs as he plants his palm on the damp earth, getting his legs beneath him to stand. His hair is falling in his eyes and she itches to push it back, to smooth her fingertips down the nape of his neck to the soft skin beneath his ear – over his collarbones and in the deep v of the flannel he’s barely managed to button. “Are you doing wielding – “ he looks down at her hand with a frown. “ – your car keys as a weapon?”

“Because it’s Halloween.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “And Ruby was telling ghost stories.”

Both eyebrows rise high on his forehead. “Were you scared, Swan?”

She looks down at her feet, suddenly feeling foolish. She doesn’t like the holiday for a litany of reasons born and bred from old scars and even older ghosts – the real kinds, not the cute Casper kinds that hang out at your Aunt’s house and pretend to be your friend. She sighs, shifting to stuff her car keys back in her coat.

“I just don’t like this stuff.” She shrugs. “And I wanted s’mores, so – “

“So you’re lurking about in the woods because it’s much safer out here than by the light of the fire.” His words are droll but his lips are smiling, an answering grin tugging at hers. “That makes perfect sense, Swan.”

“The chocolate is in my car.” He steps forward, nodding, and she feels the accompanying swoop low in her belly. “Can’t have s’mores without chocolate.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Graham crackers, too.”

“Of course.”

“Why did you follow me anyway?” When his head angles up, she catches the cut on his cheek in the light of the moon, her hand reaching for him before she can remind herself that touching him is always a bad idea. His skin is warm beneath her fingertips, and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth when she tilts his chin down to get a better look at the jagged line. It’ll probably need some antiseptic, and he’ll have a hell of a bruise, but it won’t scar or do anything other than make him look only  _more_  dangerously handsome for the next week.

Still, she lingers, shuffling close enough that she can feel the heat of him through her sweater. Glutton for punishment, obviously.

“Why did you follow me?” She whispers again, conscious of his hand slipping around her waist, finding the small of her back and pressing until she closes the space between them, hips knocking together.

“Because I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m okay.” She whispers, feeling like if she speaks any louder, the moment will be lost. Her hands find the collar of his flannel, fisting there, and a smile quirks at the corner of his lips.

“Well I’m not. You damned well near blinded me.” She rolls her eyes as his thumb slips beneath the hem of her sweater, his thumbnail tracing the dimple in her back, a shiver rolling up her spine and over her shoulders. “Perhaps you should kiss it better.”

It’s a lame line. She knows it. Judging by the way his teeth flash white in the dark, he knows it too. But she’s feeling a bit brave standing in the middle of the woods on Halloween night with her car keys tucked in her pocket and flannel fisted in her hands, so she goes with it.

She tips her chin up until she can smell the rum on his breath and watch that smile slip off his face, letting her eyes drift shut as she simultaneously tugs him forward by his too-soft shirt, and presses up on her toes and brushes her lips against his.

There’s something to be said about being kissed and being kissed well.

There’s a whole other chapter on things to be said about being kissed by someone you’ve thought about kissing for close to three years.

He groans as soon as her mouth opens against his, stumbling forward like he just can’t help himself and pressing his body against hers. The hand against the small of her back is firm and warm and keeps her from barreling in to the tree he now has her pressed against, but just barely. She idly wonders about spiders potentially crawling their way from the tree bark and into her hair but then his other hand cups her neck, he angles his head to the side, chases her mouth with his – and she forgets all about the damn spiders.

His tongue drags along her bottom lip just as she slips her hands over his shoulders and into his hair, holding on for dear life because she feels like she’s spinning when she tilts her head and slides her tongue against his in a wet slide that’s all heat and rum and traces of peanut butter cups from the bag Mary Margaret brought with her. He kisses her like he damn well means it and she suddenly hates Will all the more for that night in the bar.

Because  _this_  is what she’s been missing out on.

He pulls away from her mouth and she gasps when he drags his teeth along her jaw, nipping lightly at the place behind her ear. She’s making embarrassingly loud panting sounds as he tongues her earring and she shifts against him, spreading her legs a bit and encouraging his thigh to rest between them. She presses her hips down and he groans, forehead dropping to rest against her collarbone.

“Are you trying to kill me?” One hand slides from the small of her back to her ass, squeezing gently. He presses a kiss to her neck when her hips jump up against his, a chuckle breathed out in the space between her neck and shoulder. “Because I’d dearly love to hear what other delightful noises you make before death claims me, love.”

“Shut up.” She whispers, but it’s a jumbled, slurred mess of words because he’s taken advantage of the low cut top of her sweater in the very best way, nosing at the fabric until he can lick at her collarbone. “Just stop speaking.”

He sucks lightly at the place he was just licking, grin curled against her skin. “I daresay you quite like it when I talk, Swan. In fact – “

His mouth stills on the swell of her breast, her fingers anchored in his hair, his teeth biting just enough for her back to arch against the tree. He doesn’t move when she does though, and after another moment of nothing but their heavy breaths echoed in the darkness between them, he leans back up.

“Did you hear that?” His lips are kiss swollen and she’s sure she has beard burn on her chest, but when his fingers flex in her back pocket against her ass, she can’t find it in herself to care.

“Killian, that’s not funny.”

He looks over his shoulder, at the dark expanse of woods spread out behind them. “I’m not trying to be.”

“Seriously?”

As if on cue, there’s a crunch of leaves somewhere in the darkness. She slides her hands out of his hair to his biceps, squeezing as she tries to peer over his shoulder.

“Right, let’s go back to camp.” She makes to slide out from between him and the tree, but he holds her steady, one hand still in her pocket, the other cupping her face. His eyes almost glow in the light of the moon and she sways further into his space, letting her nose bump his.

“It’s not going to – “ He swallows hard, trying to find his words, his thumb tracing the apple of her cheek. It’s a bit of a thrill, Killian stuttering over his sentences after doing his damndest to worry teeth marks into her collarbones. “Emma, I don’t want things to go back to the way they were before.”

She presses on her toes and brushes her lips against his, smiling when he pulls her against him and kisses her harder.

“It won’t.”

She has plans for that double-sized sleeping bag he brought.

-/-

“Why is half of Killian’s face swollen?”

She averts her gaze to Ruby, who is busy staring at her neck with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“I’m more interested in why Emma has a hickey on her collarbone.”  

-/-

“Is this what you intended?” She wiggles her way further down in his sleeping bag, pulling it up to her chin and rubbing her socked feet together beneath the thick flannel. He’s lying resolutely on top, arms crossed, eyes closed – some absurd  _gentlemanly instinct_  driving him to not get under the covers with her. “When you brought a two-person sleeping bag?”

“Perhaps I just enjoy a bit of extra leg room, darling. I didn’t foresee Ruby gleefully stealing your sleeping bag and then loudly suggesting that I have one that will fit the both of us.”

Emma snickers. Ruby is less than subtle on the best of days. As soon as Emma and Killian had returned to the fire, Ruby had been watching them like the cat that got the freaking canary. Hopefully she didn’t see when Killian dragged his palm up the inside of Emma’s thigh, pinky teasing the crease of her leg with an arch of his eyebrow – but she can’t really complain given their current situation.

Ruby can be really great sometimes.

“I just hope she isn’t defiling my sleeping bag over there with Victor. Who knows – “ She cuts off abruptly when Monster Mash begins to blare obnoxiously through the campsite, coming from one tent in particular. She knows what that means.

“I’m afraid your sleeping bag is lost, Swan.” Killian manages around a laugh. “We all know that when Monster Mash begins to play – “

“Ugh, gross.” She tries not to imagine just what sort of  _mashing_  Ruby and Victor are getting up to. On her sleeping bag, no less. “It’s just because Ruby can’t be quiet to save her life.”

Killian turns on his side, head propped up on his elbow, eyes shining in the dim light cast by the camping light he pulled out of his backpack.  _Nerd_. “And what about you, Swan? Can you keep quiet?”

Heat licks along her spine beneath the thick flannel as she watches him bite at his bottom lip. “Why don’t you turn out that little boy scout lamp and come find out?”

He blinks, the heat in his eyes replaced suddenly with trepidation. Almost like he didn’t realize what he just said was a come on and he regrets the words slipping from his mouth. “Emma – “

“What? I was practically on top of you in the woods and now you – “ It slams into her – the realization that he didn’t  _choose_  to share a tent with her. He didn’t  _choose_  to give her his sleeping bag. It was all orchestrated by Ruby, and  _god_ – she is stupid. Heat burns in her cheeks as she presses her hands over her eyes and shifts further down in the sleeping bag. Maybe the damn thing will swallow her up. “ _Fuck_. I’m sorry. I’ll just – “

She burrows down further until her whole face is hidden. She can’t really breathe, but it’s better than looking at the guy you were just throwing yourself at and realizing he isn’t interested.

“Swan?” His pajama pants slip against the fabric as he shifts to curl his fingers around the material over her face. She holds steady though, not letting it budge. “Bloody hell, Emma. What are you on about?”

“Nothing. It’s fine. I’m just – “ It only takes him one forceful tug to pull the flannel away, and she blinks up at him, the bruise on his cheek just a bit purple around the edges. He had wiggled beneath her when she put on the antiseptic, her breasts brushing the front of his shirt, his eyebrows adorably furrowed. He had also mentioned something about  _kissing it better_  then too – and she just thought – she thought they were on the same page. She forces a smile, ignoring his frown. “Let’s just go to sleep.”

She sits up to flick off the light and barely manages it before he’s on her, hands pressed on either side of her hips, his mouth hovering over hers. The heat that was prickling just beneath her skin turns into a steady thrum and she drops her head back a bit, her nose glancing along his jaw.

“You drive me insane, do you know that?”

“What?” She has trouble focusing when he shifts his body over hers, guiding her back until she’s sprawled out once again beneath the sleeping bag. His hips press at hers through the thick material, and she is very, very confused.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman here, love. Abide by good form. And you – “ He lets out a shaky sigh when their noses bump together, lips millimeters apart. “You’re maddening.”

She shifts her legs so his knees can rest between them, hips falling in line.  _That_  makes much more sense. Killian was always the type to deny himself the good things just because he felt like he didn’t deserve them. He ruts against her once and she sucks in a sharp breath, her hands finding purchase in his hair.

“It’s not a matter of wanting you.” He finds that spot beneath her ear again, teeth scraping while she bites the inside of her cheek. “It’s a matter of wanting you too much. Once won’t be enough for me, love.”

Heat pulses low in her belly, an ache between her thighs that started out in the woods and comes back fierce and sharp now, her hands releasing his hair to fumble with the zipper that’s closing her in and keeping them separated. “Get in here,” she demands quietly and he finally chooses to listen, shifting off of her and into the sleeping bag, flipping the flannel over his shoulders before cupping her face in his hands and kissing her.

It seems his restraint has finally snapped – tongue and teeth and a move where his nose digs into her cheek and her heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of her chest. She pulls back with a gasp and he immediately goes to work on her neck, pulling down her sleep shirt with a forceful tug and attaching his mouth to the hollow of her throat.

“I think – “ She makes a helpless little noise, caught in the back of her throat when his hand cups her breast. He echoes it when he drags his thumb over her nipple and realizes she’s not wearing a bra. “I happen to think this is very good form.”

It’s like a flip has been switched within him, his mouth eager as he sucks little bruises down her chest, grunting in frustration when he’s stopped by the fabric of her shirt. She leans up when he pulls at it with his fist, not willing to sacrifice her  _It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown_  shirt in his desperation.

The flannel is soft against her bare skin when she leans back down, her shirt over the lantern in the corner, his gaze heated as he trails his hand over the swell of her breast, spreading his fingers as he glides his hand down to her belly and back up again. He pinches at her nipple and her back arches, chasing the feeling, the pounding between her legs thrumming time with the stroke of his fingers.

She drags her nails down the side of his heather gray tee as he looks at her, slipping beneath and feeling the stretch of his shoulders beneath hot skin. She pushes her hips up and he presses back down, a slow rhythm between the two of them where he hits her just right, cock straining against the seam of her yoga pants.

She really wants these pants off.

He switches it up when she closes her eyes and bites out his name and does a thing where he presses down with his hips and rolls them in a slow dirty grind and  _fuck_ –

“Killian,” she pants, unwilling to move her hands from the gentle pressure they have on his shifting shoulder blades as he bends his head and draws nonsense into her breast with his tongue. She presses harder and he chuckles, rubbing his stubbled cheek against her nipple until she makes a mildly embarrassing gasping sound. “Fuck, Killian.”

Encouraged, his wandering hand slips to the edge of her yoga pants, toying with the material there as she hooks her ankle around the back of his knee. She feels like she’s on fire, beads of sweat at the hollow of her throat and between her breasts, salt on her tongue when she licks a stripe up his neck.

It isn’t until he slips his hand beneath her pants and underwear, the rough pad of his thumb circling her clit, that he opens his mouth to speak.

“Fucking hell, Swan.” He presses his hips to her thigh and she slips one hand down his back, around his waist to the front of his sleep pants where she palms his erection. “Bloody fucking fuck, you’re wet.” He bites out around another groan.

His body tenses when she uses her leg around him to push down his sleep pants, but his fingers don’t slow against her – his palm grinding down against her clit while his fingers press into her. She drops one hand to the flannel and holds on tight while he works her, mouth back on her nipple while she stares at the ceiling of the tent and listens to the rustling in the leaves just outside. It feels like floating, or chasing a really good buzz – but better – his hand insistent against her, his mouth muttering deliciously dirty things into the space between her breasts.

“Come on now, love.” He bites her hard, and her fingers wrap around his wrist, holding him against her in just the right spot as she rocks her hips. “Let’s see what you sound like, yeah?”

She sounds like a gasping, writhing mess is what she sounds like – her nails biting into his wrist and her face buried in his chest when she comes with a muffled sob. He helps her ride it out with gentle fingers and when she opens her eyes again and there are no colors dancing in her field of vision, she smiles – shoulders relaxing.

“Hi,” she whispers, pressing the sweaty mop of hair sticking to his forehead back. She traces the tip of his ear with her finger and he tilts his face, pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand.

“Hi,” he responds, a dark hunger in his voice, and she thinks perhaps they’ve waited long enough.

Three years is a long time.

“I have a condom in my bag.” She whispers while her hands find him again, gripping him tight and stroking until his forehead falls to the pillow beneath her head with a groan.  He fumbles for her backpack while she continues to touch him, his hands shaking.

“What pocket?” He grunts.

She reaches up and presses her mouth to the skin just above his shirt, sucking a mark below his collarbone. He cups her head with his hand, tangling his fingers in her hair. “Emma, please. What pocket?”

“The front.” She answers, busying herself with dragging her pants off one leg and pushing up his shirt, feeling that chest hair against her bare skin. She hears the answering zip of the bag, the rip of foil, and then he’s back between her legs, gently nudging her hands away and lacing their fingers together.

He doesn’t say anything as he presses into her, just whispers her name between clenched teeth as she spreads her legs wider to accommodate him. He’s thick and heavy inside of her and when he’s fully settled, hips pressed tight to her own, she squeezes his hands, rotating her hips.

“Give me a moment, love. You feel – “ He brushes his lips against her temple, an experimental rock of his hips that she answers with her teeth against his neck. “Fuck, you feel incredible.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She breathes out, his hands pushing hers so they rest above her head, one drifting down her body to lift her thigh higher around his hips. He keeps it there, holding her steady as he rocks once, twice, three times until she arches her back and grits out a desperate  _more, please, god._

He answers with another muttered curse, sweat on his brow as he bites at his bottom lip. She’s reminded of that summer cookout two years ago, when he had been running around with Roland and his shirt had clung to his chest – his hair in chaos and half-matted to his forehead. But this is different. This is better. Because the sleeping bag around them is brushing against the sides of the tent every time he presses his hips against hers and he catches her clit on every downward grind and she can feel it sparking again, just under her skin, that thrum.

“I’ve thought about this a million times.” He mutters, palm sliding from her thigh to her ass and angling her hips up, grinning when he slides deeper and she groans out his name. “A million ways.”

He picks up his pace when she whispers  _me, too_  – hips jumping against hers as she squeezes at his hand with both of hers. Her legs are already shaking around his hips and it won’t take long now, the hand on her ass sliding to where they’re joined – a few well timed swipes of his thumb roughly along her clit and she’s just – he’s just –

He groans above her as she loses herself, his chest hair rubbing over her nipples, hips frantic, mouth slanting over hers as he chases his high while drawing out her own. His hand squeezes almost painfully at her fingers and she knows she’ll have imprints from his rings tomorrow – little flowers etched into her skin.

Worth it.

Especially when he presses her name into her neck when he comes, whole body stilling above her, a few languid jumpy strokes of his hips before he collapses.

She feels disgustingly hot wrapped in him and the sleeping bag. Monster Mash is still playing on loop from Ruby’s tent. His foot knocked over the bag of candy corn and she’s pretty sure she has a tree root digging in to her back.

She couldn’t be happier.

-/-

She makes him get rid of the condom while he’s dressed only in his black boxer briefs, laughing from the foot of the tent wearing nothing but his t-shirt as she watches him bury it on the edge of camp. 

Such a good Boy Scout. 

He comes back into the tent with a grin, his hands cold on her skin from the night air. 

“Cuddle me, Swan.” She rolls her eyes but allows herself to be scooped into his arms regardless. “I’ll protect you from the monsters.”

-/-

She grabs his hand when they emerge from the tent in the morning, a shocked but pleased smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He flips her hand in his grip and presses a kiss to it, smile shifting into a smirk when an answering blush rises on her cheeks.

“You two are disgusting.” Ruby tosses Emma her sleeping bag back, but she lets it drop in front of her. No way is she ever using that thing again. “I’ve created a monster.”

Emma grins.

Maybe Halloween isn’t so bad after all.


End file.
